the morning is
eerily still
nothing but the
echoes of anxiety
playing counterpoint
to his frantically
darting thoughts
already ready already
with no place to go
and nothing to say
cut for time
to make room for
someone of actual
importance
waiting for his
scant few seconds
as the spotlight dies
settling the stage
in perpetual night
the crowd files out
and the crickets sing
a song of surrender

maybe tomorrow
he tells himself
as the silence swells
knowing tomorrow
never truly comes
but willing to
continue the charade
for this chance
one he has prayed for
beneath his breath
his entire life
he practices standing
as the rug is yanked
out from beneath him
ad nauseam
chasing the attention
that wants nothing
to do with him
knowing there is never
enough time for
his pathetic desire
as he stands just behind
the velvet curtain
watching the world
spin on without him